“I’ve been cudgeling my brains trying to find out why you want me to do that, but I still don’t...”
“Here we are,” Mason said.
He parked the car in front of the house. The door opened and a chunky, powerfully built man came out to greet them. His teeth flashed in a quick smile. He spoke with a very noticeable Australian accent.
“Ah, Mr. Mason, I believe. I am so pleased to meet you. When you telephoned I could hardly believe my good fortune. I have read accounts of many of your cases. And this is Miss Della Street, your secretary?
“It is indeed an honor to have you come here. Of course, you will understand I only arrived a short time ago. I haven’t had an opportunity to go over the place well. It needs a thorough cleaning. I haven’t been able to engage any servants as yet. In fact, my preliminary conversations with employment agencies indicate that it’s going to be very difficult to do so.”
“What are you doing with the gorillas?” Mason asked.
Herman Barnwell made an inclusive sweep with his arm. “They’re gone. I sold the whole outfit, lock, stock and barrel, to a zoo. When that sale is reported in the press, I may have some success with servants — but do come in, and tell me what, if anything, I can do for you. It is indeed a pleasure to have you here.”
He held the door open and said, “Right across that entrance hallway and into the main living room, if you will. I’ll have to fix the drinks myself, I’m afraid — a little Scotch and soda? Or would you prefer a cocktail?”
“Scotch and soda will be fine,” Mason said, “but we’re in rather a hurry. I assume you’re quite busy and...”
“No, no, not at all, Mr. Mason. I have had a preliminary conference with Mr. Hardwick, the attorney for the executor, and I have been over some of the accounts with Mr. Hershey, trying to get some idea of my brother’s rather complicated business affairs. Of course, those are for the most part in the hands of the bank, but the bank wants to follow my wishes in the matter.
“It may interest you to know, Mr. Mason, that I have instructed the bank that under no circumstances are they to contest in any way the provisions in the will giving Mrs. Josephine Kempton a share of the estate.”
“Of course,” Mason pointed out, “she’s being tried for murder and if she...”
“She didn’t murder him,” Herman Barnwell said calmly. “I know she didn’t.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask how you know that?”
Herman Barnwell said, “I am satisfied, Mr. Mason, that Mrs. Kempton did not kill my brother. My brother was trying to hide from his past. There is no use for me to beat about the bush, Mr. Mason. You are far too wise to be trapped by superficial subterfuge. There was no measure of affection between my brother and me. I am not even going to try to pretend — perhaps to the public, yes; but to you, no.
“Benjamin was intensely self-centered. We spent some time in Australia. We had a mining partnership. There were legal difficulties. One of the persons who had conflicting interests in our claim was killed. He was murdered. I won’t say Benjamin murdered this man. There were circumstances which pointed to it.
“But the police bungled the case. They thought I had committed the murder. I was tried and convicted. However, after conviction new evidence was disclosed which resulted in my obtaining a pardon.
“Benjamin, however, had completely disappeared. Fortunately for him he had never been fingerprinted and so he was able to elude everyone.”
“And you didn’t know where he was?” Mason asked.
“I thought he was dead. Benjamin had been very cunning. He had a small yacht. He put out to sea in that yacht when a bad storm was coming up. Two days later the capsized yacht was found floating. There was no trace of Benjamin. Naturally it was assumed that he was dead.”
Mason frowned. “So he ran away and left you to face the murder charge?”
“Not exactly. The police misconstrued the evidence. My brother ran away.”
Mason said, “I have reason to believe your brother may have had a gorilla which wasn’t kept in the cages.”
“What?”
“That’s right — a gorilla only two or three people ever knew about.”
“But — good heavens, Mr. Mason, where on earth could such a gorilla have been kept?”
“That’s what I’d like to have you help me find out.”
Herman Barnwell’s eyes were pinpoints of concentration. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Mason. The very idea seems preposterous.”
“I’m not certain that I follow myself,” Mason said, “but I wanted to look around a bit if I could. Naturally I’d want you to be with me. I doubt if the police ever did search the entire premises.”
“By all means,” Herman Barnwell said. “Just sit down, please, while I get the drinks — you know, Mr. Mason, I too have had an uneasy feeling that the police may have let their attention be diverted by the obvious. I have had the feeling that — however, I don’t want to say things I am not prepared to prove, and I don’t want to alarm your secretary. You want Scotch and soda? And you, Miss Street, I believe the same.”
“The same,” she said, “and if you don’t mind, I’ll look around here in the entrance hall. I’m very much interested in the Grecian urn where the articles were recovered.”
“Make yourself at home,” Herman Barnwell invited cordially. “Just help yourself.”
He left the room, and a few moments later Mortimer Hershey entered. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mason. I just returned from court. I hardly expected to find you here.”
He came forward and shook hands, then turned to Della. “How do you do, Miss Street?”
Mason motioned with his hand. “Della wanted to take a look in the stone urn in the reception room.”
“Well, that’s perfectly natural,” Hershey said, laughing. “I can well understand that. You certainly did a remarkable job of deductive reasoning, Mr. Mason. And, incidentally, started a rather interesting chain of events.”
Mason said, “I’m hoping I can do something along those same lines this afternoon. I was telling Mr. Barnwell I wanted to ascertain if a gorilla is here which wasn’t kept confined in the cages.”
Hershey laughed. “I think that’s entirely out of the question, Mr. Mason. All of the animals here, with the sole exception of that one monkey...”
Della Street’s high-pitched scream of fear knifed through the room.
“Chief! Behind you!”
Mason whirled.
Della Street came running into the room.
“What was it?” Mason asked.
“Behind you,” she said, “I just had a glimpse of him through the door — a terrible, grinning gorilla...”
The roar of a shot sounded through the house. It was followed by a second and a third shot, and then silence.
Somewhere a chair overturned.
Della Street ran toward Mason.
“Get back!” Mason shouted. “Get back! Do as I told you! Follow instructions.”
For a moment Della Street looked at him in dazed incomprehension.
Suddenly a huge gorilla appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a gorilla with staring eyes, a fixed sardonic grin on his features.
“Good Lord!” Hershey exclaimed, then turned to run, paused to look back.
The grinning gorilla came shambling toward Mason. The knuckles of one huge, hairy hand rested on the floor. The other one held a glittering carving knife.
“Help! Help!” Hershey shouted, and started for the door, stumbling over a chair as he did so, falling flat. He grabbed Mason’s coattails in order to pull himself up, shouting, “Run! Help! Get me out of this!”
The huge body of the gorilla came directly for Perry Mason.
Hershey produced a revolver. Trying to scramble to his feet, he fired three shots from a kneeling position.